


Allan Goes Off

by Lyledebeast



Series: Allan and Guy [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Allan is about done with the good King Richard nonsense, Alternate Ending, Gen, Profanity, What-If, and some other nonsenses too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: This is my version of what could/should have happened in the infamous courtyard scene in 2x13.  It's been two years today since I first watched that scene, and I'm not over it.What if Allan had arrived in the courtyard at the same time as Marian to impart some common sense to the situation? What if he and Guy didn't suffer from complete amnesia regarding the relationship that developed between them over the course of the entire second season (as we see in s3)? What if the writers didn't fridge the central female character?As you can see, I'm not a bit salty about this show.  Not even a little.





	1. "Fuck the King"

As he ran into the courtyard, Allan tried to wrap his mind around what had happened that day.  Most of it had been spent tied to a post in the middle of the desert, but then he and the rest of the gang, plus Marian, had been released by Carter, the man who served the very man who had put them there.  And now, they were trying to save the king yet again, as though he had never given that order.  Yeah. It would be fun to try to puzzle that one out, if he ever got the chance.

Once they returned to town, Robin had told them to split up in the hopes of finding the king faster.  When Allan had heard a man scream, he took off towards the sound as fast as his legs could take him.  His heart was pounding in his ears by the time he reached the courtyard, but when he saw that he was not alone, the sense of relief was almost enough to knock him down.  The king was lying face down with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and Guy had clearly been advancing towards him, sword drawn.  But Marian was standing between them, talking to Guy.  If anyone could calm him and talk him out of what he was going to do, Allan thought, it was she.

But by the time he could register that thought, he was close enough to hear what she was actually saying.

“I would rather die than marry you, Guy of Gisborne,” she said, smiling.  “I’m going to marry Robin Hood.”

So much for calming him down.  Allan turned his attention to Guy, who seemed frozen in place, his eyes wide in disbelief.  “No,” he gasped softly.

“I’m going to marry Robin Hood,” she continued, almost more to herself than to Guy. “I love Robin Hood.”

Allan saw Guy’s hand tighten on the hilt of his sword, and before he could stop himself he cried out.

“Guy, stop!”

He rushed forward as Guy turned to look at him, stopping when their eyes met.  For a moment, he was terrified, thinking of the wide blade that was still pointing towards Marian.  But when he saw the expression in his eyes, the fear faded.  Guy looked positively lost, more anguished than Allan had ever seen him before.

“Allan?” he croaked out, confused. Allan took another step forward.

“Don’t do it, Guy,” he pleaded softly, dropping his own weapon to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the end of the sword lower.

“Allan, she . . .” he trailed off.  Moving closer once again, Allan could see tears filling his eyes. He thought of how anxious Guy had been when Marian was away with Robin in the forest, and how delighted he was when she had returned.  How he and Guy had planned together to save her life.

“I know.  I know, Giz,” he cooed. “But, put the sword down, alright?  Don’t hurt her.”

Guy dropped his sword, and himself along with it, kneeling down in the sand with a roar of pain that made Allan look again to make sure he had not hurt himself with his weapon.  Then he looked up at Marian.

She was watching Guy, her mouth open as she panted with exertion.  The serene smile was gone from her face, and she looked as though she had just stepped down from walking along the castle ramparts when the wind was up.  Allan wondered if she was regretting what she had just done.  He hoped she did, he suddenly realized. He wanted to shake the foolishness out of her.

“What were you thinking!” he cried, his voice cold.

Marian looked up at him, blinking for a moment before she answered.

“I . . . he was going to kill the king.”

“And you thought it better he should kill you, eh? Is that what you wanted? ‘I love Robin Hood?’ ‘I’m going to marry Robin Hood?’ Did you want him to run you through?”

“No,” Marian mumbled, dropping her gaze.  But when she looked up, her eyes were defiant once again.

“What should I have done, Allan? Let him do it? Tell me, what should I have said?”

The tendons in Allan’s neck tensed with fury, and he felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists.  All of the anger that had been building inside him all day came to the surface before he could stop it.

“Oh, I don’t know, Marian.  Lie, maybe? Lie like you’ve lied to him every day for the past two years.  Lie the way you did when he found out you were the Night Watchman and you claimed you still cared for him.” He paused for a moment, trying to collect himself. It was Guy who had told him what she said when they were alone together, trying so hard to convince him that she was telling the truth that Allan wondered how much he really believed it himself. 

He scoffed; it hadn’t been true at all, apparently. “Lie the way you probably have across land and sea these past two months,” he continued.  “Lying works, Marian.  No one knows that better than you!”

Marian’s eyes grew wide, but she made no further attempts to explain.  By now, everyone in the town had surely heard Allan shouting, and the courtyard was filling at an alarming rate.  He was aware that now Much, Robin, John, Will, Djaq, and maybe a hundred of the king’s men and advisers were watching him now.  He was just beginning to feel the blood creep into his cheeks when Much spoke.

“Allan,” he cried in awe.  “You saved the king!”

It was more than he could take.  He had just put a stop to almost certain bloodshed between two people he cared for, and still all anyone was interested in was bloody Richard the Lionheart.

“Fuck the king, Much!” he bellowed. “We abandoned our people, the people we’re meant to help, to come all the way out here to save him, and how does he repay us? By leaving us to roast in the sun like so many plucked pheasants.  That’s how much he cares about us.  I can promise you I’m not risking my neck for him!”

“Allan,” came Robin’s voice in a low growl.  When Allan turned to him, he saw that he was looking not at him but at the faces of those surrounding him.  “Shut up, now, before you regret it.”

But it was no use now, even if he’d wanted to.  His blood was up, and he had been silent for too long already.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Robin,” he spat.  “You’re no better; all you could do was defend him, even while we were waiting to die! ‘Don’t blame the king.  He’s just been deceived,’ you said. But you’d never believe anything ill of the king, would you? No matter what.  Otherwise, you might believe your eyes and ears.  He doesn’t care about us.  He doesn’t care about his people.  Nothing you say will make him come home and put things right.  But because of him, we’re here.  In this land of burning sand instead of home where we could do some good.  And Marian is here, trying to martyr herself for a man she’s never even met!”

When he fell silent, every eye in the courtyard was still on him, but now he felt the weight of them.  What had he said? This time, embarrassment warmed his cheeks, and there was no stopping it.  In the dead silence, he heard the single person who had missed every word he’d said.  Guy was still bent over on the ground, sobbing softly as though his heart was breaking. Allan knelt down next to him, madly hoping that he, too, could become so small and forgotten by everyone.  Somehow as he knelt there, he found his hand wandering up to rest on Guy’s shoulder.  At the touch, Guy only curled further in on himself and wept more loudly.

Allan became aware of the crowd parting in front of him, and two pairs of boots advancing forward through the sand.  When he looked up, King Richard and Robin were looking down at them.  The king’s face was lined with pain, but when he spoke the ice in his voice betrayed no vulnerability.

“Who are these men?”

Robin pointed to Guy first.  “That is Guy of Gisborne, your highness, who tried to murder you two years ago, and who gave me the wound that sent me home.  And who tried to murder my wife.”

Inexplicably, Allan felt his fingers tighten on Guy’s shoulder. Then Robin looked at him, still stony-faced, but not quite meeting his eyes.

“This is Allan a Dale.”

Before Allan could ask why his name did not come with a description, he heard the king call out in a loud, commanding voice.

“Take them to the dungeon.”


	2. "I Thought We Were Friends"

The dungeons of Acre were more comfortable than Allan had expected.  They were well out of the hot sun, but let in enough light to see by. The jailer had refilled his mug with fresh water already, and the bread, while dry, was free from mold and maggots.  For all his indifference to his own people, the king treated his prisoners well enough.  At least he wasn’t a sadist, like Vaisey.

Allan found himself wondering idly if the sheriff might make an attempt to rescue Guy, but he supposed the cruel little man had always been more interested in putting men into dungeons than getting them out.  And Guy had failed him, for a second time.  He sighed, looking at the black heap lying on the floor on the other side of the bars.

Guy had regained some composure when the king’s men had pulled him up, walking to the dungeon on his own two legs.  It must have been quite a relief to them that they didn’t have to carry him, Allan was sure. But as soon as they had locked the door of his cell and left, he had started crying again. At first, Allan thought it best to leave him alone. What could he possibly say that would help him? Besides, he had troubles of his own.  But when Guy had vomited into the straw heaped in the corner of his cell, Allan began to grow worried.  On their voyage over, Djaq had stressed the importance of drinking water again and again.  “In England, you can always assume that water will be available, but in the desert this is not always so.  If you become dehydrated, you will die.”

“Guy, drink some water,” Allan said softly.

Guy turned and stared at him for a moment, as though he wasn’t sure he had heard him.  “What?”

“You need to drink some water.  You’ve been . . . Djaq says you can get sick if you . . . loose a lot of water and aren’t drinking to get it back.”

Guy scoffed.  “Why should you care if I get sick?”

Allan frowned at that.  It was a good question; why did he? “Listen, Guy,” he began tentatively.  “Whatever you may think, I don’t want you to suffer.”

He turned to look at Guy’s face, and his mouth fell open in alarm.  Though he was covered in dirt from the floor, just like Allan, and his checks were lined with streaks from his fresh tears, his lips were twisted into a ghastly smile.

“You really think drinking some dirty water is going to end my suffering?” he asked.

“No,” Allan muttered, dropping his eyes. “I know it won’t, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself more than you’ve been hurt already.”

Guy was silent for so long that Allan decided he shouldn’t expect a reply.  He was just about to get up himself when saw Guy work his way up onto his hands and knees and crawl to the door of his cell where his untouched mug of water was sitting, draining it in quick, deep gulps.

With a smile of relief, Allan reached for his own mug, holding it up to the bars.

“Here, take mine too. I have some left over from when the jailer filled them up a while ago.”

Guy peered at him cautiously, but reached for the offering all the same.  When he emptied it too, he gingerly pushed it through the bars, jerking his hand back when Allan’s fingers brushed against his.

Allan sighed. “Well, at least he won’t die now,” he thought to himself.  He lay back against the wall, trying to get as comfortable as possible.  It was getting dark now, and much cooler in the cell.  Might as well try to get some sleep, he decided.  He was just about to drift off when he heard Guy mumble something.

“What’s that?” he asked, moving closer to the neighboring cell.

“If you care about me,” Guy asked, “then why did you leave me?”

Allan squinted, confused for the moment.  It had been so long ago, and the months of travel had given him a chance to try to find his place in the gang once more. Though he knew things would never be the same with them again, he was starting to think of his time in the castle as a bad dream he was glad to have awakened from.  But at Guy’s words, the memories came rushing back unbidden.

“I had to save my friends,” he answered after a long pause.  “I . . . the mercenaries would have killed them all if I hadn’t.”

He turned to gauge Guy’s reaction, but could see only the back of his head. He was looking at the dungeon door, as though he was waiting for someone.  Allan heard him sigh.

“I thought _we_ were friends.  You said I could trust you.”

Allan felt a stab of the guilt he thought had left him since his return to the gang.  As much as he knew it was the right choice, he had felt bad for leaving Guy and Marian to travel with she sheriff.

“Well, would you have come with me if I’d asked?” It was an obvious dodge, but perhaps Guy would overlook that.

He turned, not quite facing Allan, but enough to show his profile in the moonlight.  Though it was hard to tell, Allan thought his expression had softened.

“No, probably not.”

“Well, I saved some time by not asking, didn’t I?”

Much to his surprise, Allan heard Guy give a soft chuckle.

“How would that have gone over with Hood? ‘We can go free to save the king, but Gisborne is coming with us.’”

Allan grinned, relieved by Guy’s lighter mood.  “I think he’d sooner have taken his chances with the mercenaries.”

He and Guy both laughed at that, but it died down quickly.  Guy broke the silence with another question.  “What was it like . . . going back to Hood’s gang after you betrayed them?”

Allan lay the back of his head against the cell wall again, taking a deep breath.  It wasn’t easy to talk about how everyone still seemed to trust him less.  How Much still brought up what he had done.  How Will refused to talk about it at all, but was more distant from him than before.  How hard Djaq had worked trying to make him feel a part of things, and the critical looks that drew from the others. But if it would get his mind off of their impending judgement, and Guy’s off of Marian, it was worth the effort.

The more he spoke, the easier it became. Giving voice to the thoughts he had been forced to keep to himself for so long even helped him to feel better, in spite of everything.  Guy mostly listened quietly, only interjecting once in a while with a question.

“The Saracen woman, Djaq? Is she your . . .?”

“No,” Allan answered.  “There was a time when I hoped she might want to be.  But she chose my friend instead.”

For the first time, it was Guy who drew closer to the bars dividing them.

“You seem to have taken it well,” he observed, a trace of wonder in his voice.

Allan sensed that they were heading towards dangerous territory, and bit his lip nervously.

“Well,” he ventured, “I mean . . . I love him too.  I could see why she would choose him.  He’s always been more serious than I am.  More committed to the cause . . . obviously.”

Fortunately, Guy seemed satisfied with that. Though he said no more, he lay back against the wall, and Allan continued once again.

The conversation trailed off as they slowly drifted off to sleep, and the next morning, Guy was quiet again.  Allan found himself growing anxious until he saw him devour their morning bread with relish.  He still looked sad and tired, but the despondency of their first day in the dungeon had faded.

As the day drew on, Allan was surprised to find himself with some visitors.  First came Djaq and Will, he standing back, mostly silent while she stood in front of the cell, clasping one of Allan’s hands over the bars.

“You should not be here, Allan,” she insisted.  “I think even Robin knows that, in his heart.  We have been trying to persuade him to speak to the king, to plead your cause.”

Allan nodded, trying to seem optimistic in spite of his doubt.  “Robin still hasn’t forgiven me,” he thought to himself.  “He never will.”

“He says that when the king saw you embrace Gisborne, he assumed you must still be loyal to him, but if Robin could explain, I’m sure he would understand.”

That drew a genuine smile from Allan.  “If you could explain, Djaq, maybe he would,” he wanted to say.  “But if the king thinks I’m a traitor, he’s hardly going to trust _you_. You look too much like the enemy.”

“Thank you,” he said instead, squeezing her hand.  “And you too, Will. I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.” That much, at least, he did not doubt.

Will nodded, as though everything Djaq had said went for him as well, but then he stepped forward, so close he was sure only he could hear him.

“I’m sorry, Allan.” He wondered what for.  For his being imprisoned? For how he had treated him these past months? Either way, what good would anger do?

“I know, Will.  It’s alright,” he said, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.  Perhaps this was the last time he would ever see either of them again.  Already, the thought hurt. Will gave him another nod and a tight-lipped smile. With a final squeeze of his hand from Djaq, they were gone.

While he had hoped they would come to him, as unlikely as it seemed, nothing could have prepared Allan for Much’s arrival. Let alone how impassioned he was.

“Why did you say that, Allan?” he cried. “Everything had been going so well! Marian was in front of the king.  Gisborne was . . . on the ground.  The king was hurt, but at last he was alive! Marian said that you saved her; she even told the king, but he . . . it doesn’t make any sense! We try to save him, and he punishes us.  You save Marian AND him, and he punishes you! Puts you in a cell next to Gisborne!” Much looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No,” Allan agreed with a shake of his head, still trying to work out why Much was standing in front of him, hands on his hips. “It doesn’t.”

Much turned back to him almost violently.  “Why did you say . . . that about the king, Allan?  Everything would be as it should if you hadn’t.”

He could only shrug.  Even if he could explain it, what difference would it make?  “Well, if it helps, Much, I didn’t plan it like that.  It just came out. Maybe it was sunstroke?”

That seemed to content him.  With another indignant shake of his head at the whole situation, Much repeated Djaq’s assertion that they were trying to convince Robin to speak to the king, and left.

Allan returned to his place by the wall, suddenly exhausted. How could waiting in a cell be so tiring? Guy had been sitting against the wall all along, so quiet that Allan assumed he was asleep, but almost as soon as he sat down Guy turned to look at him.

“I have to ask,” said Guy.  “What did you say to the king?”

Allan heaved a deep sigh. “Well, I didn’t say it to him. More about him.”

“Well?”

Allan couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity.  Much was right. Here he was, sitting in a dungeon next to a man who had attempted to murder King Richard twice, all for a few words.

“I said ‘Fuck the king.’”

Guy gave a tiny gasp next to him, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see his shoulders shaking.  It was only when he turned his head to look at him with concern that Allan realized Guy was laughing.

“Did . . . did you say this to Hood?” he asked, still tittering.

“No, to Much. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The king heard me.”

Guy took a couple of deep breaths, as though trying to get himself under control.  “Did he seem to favor the idea?”

“Did the . . .?” Allan turned to Guy with a confused frown to see his eyes still scrunched up with mirth. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that, Giz! He may be the king, but he isn’t my type!”

Guy raised an eyebrow at that, and Allan suddenly found himself as embarrassed as he had been just after the outlandish speech. He shrugged again and looked away to hide the redness in his cheeks.

“I was just . . . so tired of being punished for doing the right thing, you know? Especially after I’ve done so much wrong.”

When he glanced back, the wicked glint was gone from Guy’s eyes, and Allan suddenly regretted his words.  Before he could apologize, though, Guy gave him a sad smile.

“I know what you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally I had planned on only two chapters for this fic, but since the final scene exploded into something much larger than I intended, I've made it into its own chapter.


	3. "I Want You to be Free"

The last visitor arrived that night.  The streets around the dungeon were deathly quiet, but Allan could hear noise coming from the center of the town.  Some kind of celebration was happening.  There were only two guards on duty, and they appeared to both be asleep from what Allan could tell.

She came dressed all in white, with a scarf wrapped around her head that left only her eyes uncovered.  At first, he thought that she was a Saracen, but then he heard Guy start with a gasp and scramble to his feet.

“Marian?” he whispered in disbelief.

She pulled down the scarf, letting it hang around her neck.  “We don’t have much time,” she said to neither of them in particular.  “Djaq made a drug to put into the guards’ wine and Much brought it to them, but it’s very weak, and she says it may only keep them asleep for a little while.”

As she slid a key into the lock, Allan got up and walked towards the bars, but Guy remained just where he was.

“Where is everyone?” Allan asked.  “Does Robin know about this?” More questions flew to his brain, but he tried to hold them back.  The last thing he wanted was to get caught by being too curious.

Marian dropped her eyes.  “They . . . they’re all at the feast,” she answered. “Robin . . .”

“Yes?” Allan asked, growing impatient.

She looked up at him, her eyes more full of worry than he’d ever seen them before. “We’ll tell Robin later.  Or . . . when he sees you, we won’t have to.”

Allan’s mouth dropped open in shock.  “You . . . you planned all this, and Robin doesn’t even know about it?” Then an even more astonishing revelation came to him.  He reached out to take hold of a cell bar.

“Marian,” he began, “what’s the celebration for?”

She glanced up at him, biting her lip. “It’s, um . . . a wedding feast. Robin and I were married last evening, but with such short notice we couldn’t celebrate until tonight.”

Without conscious will, Allan turned back to look at Guy.  While he was still on his feet, he had slumped against the wall, looking down listlessly.

When he turned back to Marian, he could see that she was watching him too, and his fists began to tighten with anger once again.  He wasn’t going to complain about being rescued, but did _she_ have to be the one to free him? And during her wedding feast? Wearing what had mostly likely been her wedding dress?  Like her confession to Guy the day before, it seemed needlessly cruel.

When the lock gave, she took it off of the door and gently eased it open.  Allan glanced at Guy once again, suddenly finding it hard to move.  He was standing just the same way, but his posture was even more stooped than before. Allan’s heart sank, but he could find no words.  To stay meant death, by execution if the king remembered them, or slow deterioration if he didn’t. But he did not want to leave him behind.

He was still watching him when Guy jerked his head up. Allan turned to follow his line of vision, his mouth falling open in shock when he saw that Marian was opening the door to Guy’s cell too.  Rushing out of his cell, he stood next to Marian to encourage him forward.

“Come on, Guy,” he urged. He could not imagine why Marian would free him after what she’d said, but they didn’t have to imagine it.  Only take advantage of it. “Come out before she changes her mind!” he thought to himself.

After a moment, Guy did move towards them, but it was with the slow, measured steps of a wolf about to spring. Allan felt Marian tense next to him.

“Why are you doing this?” Guy asked coldly, stopping just inside the door to look down at her.

Allan watched her as she looked up, noting how the color had drained from her face.

“You saved my life once,” she said evenly.  “I’m only returning the favor.”

Guy raised his arms, crossing them over his chest, but remained fixed to the spot.

“Think this makes us even, do you?” He scoffed.  “That’s not good enough.  Tell me the real reason.”

“Guy, please,” she hissed, her voice sharp with impatience.  “We really don’t have time . . .”

“Allan,” Guy snapped, cutting Marian off without looking away from her. “Go.  I don’t want you getting caught.  Run while you have the chance.” 

He smirked at Marian, his eyes still cold.  “I will not move from this spot until you tell me why you want to save my life after you threw my feelings for you back in my face.”

“The guards, Guy,” she pleaded, the sternness in her voice fading a bit.

“I don’t care about the guards,” he growled.  “I don’t care if they rouse the guests at the feast.  I don’t care if your husband catches us together.  Maybe you’re right and I don’t deserve you or your love.  But I think I deserve an answer.”

Allan stood staring at them in disbelief.  He knew he should listen to Guy, to set off for the port as fast as he could.  But he couldn’t find it in himself to leave the scene that was unfolding. He had thought Guy was sleeping or just silently grieving these past two days, but now he wondered if he hadn’t been planning just what he would say to Marian, if she gave him the chance.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you, Guy,” she said dully.  “But you were going to kill the king.  I couldn’t let you do that.”

Guy remained quiet after she finished, looking down in concentration.  When he met her eyes and spoke again, his voice was quavering.  “What . . . what about before?” he asked. “All that time when you were in the castle after your father died.  When you came back from the convent.  I thought you had come back to me, but . . .” He trailed off, swallowing and glancing away.

“I wanted to be where I could help the people the most, Guy.  And I did.  And you helped me,” she answered.  Her voice was softer now, conciliatory.

Allan could just make out Guy’s face in the torchlight, but he saw him quickly reach up and rub underneath his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What about before that? When . . . when you came to Locksley that night, and told me that you wanted to be friends again?”

Fixing his eyes on her, Allan saw that the corner of her mouth was beginning to twitch, a tiny betrayal of her impassive face. “I was thinking of my father, just as you said.  Of how I could protect him.”

Guy nodded, then wiped away another tear.  “Did you hate me?” he asked meekly. “For burning Knighton?  For trying to force you to marry me?”

“No,” Marian replied wearily.  Allan was close enough to see that there were tears in her eyes now too, but she seemed resolved not to let them fall.  “It wasn’t about hatred, or revenge, or anything like that.  I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Guy, but it wasn’t actually about you at all.”

With a cry of anguish, Guy emerged from his cell so fast that Marian was forced to move back, gasping.  He bent down, glowering straight into her face before dropping his head with a loud sob.  Allan looked frantically to the two guards to see if they had heard, but they remained motionless.

“How . . . how can you?” Guy cried, weeping.  He sniffed once, then again.  “How can . . . you say that . . . that this wasn’t abou . . . about me?” he forced out between sobs.

Marian raised a hand to his shoulder.  Whether it was to hold him off or calm him was hard for Allan to tell, but it seemed to do the latter.  Guy stood up straight, moving away from her and sniffing again.  He raised his hand to wipe his nose, and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was raw, but steadier.

“It was about me. I believed your lies because I’m in love with you.  I let you get close enough to me to help the people, to help your father, because I’m in love with you.  The only reason any of your plans worked was because I’m in love with you.  And you knew that.  And you never thought of me at all.”

“I . . . I couldn’t afford to, Guy,” Marian replied, sniffling now herself.  “I couldn’t think about you and them.  I had to make a choice.”

Guy shook his head, and wiped his nose again.  “You know, all my life, people have hurt me.  Even before the sheriff. All my life. So I understand hatred.  I understand what it’s like to want revenge.  And I could understand, if that was what you were doing.”

Marian wiped her eyes, but remained silent, listening as intently as Allan.

“But for you, who are so good, and so pure, to use me . . .  to use my heart against me. Without ever even thinking of how that would feel? I can’t . . .”

His voice was so soft now, so small and helpless, that Allan found his own eyes wet.

“That hurts me,” Guy went on, “more than anything else ever has.  Like everything I’ve done has been for nothing. It makes me want to stay here and die.”

Without a word, Marian stepped forward and reached for Guy’s hand, placing something in it.  After examining it for a moment in surprise, he lifted the handkerchief wiped his eyes before blowing his nose into it loudly.

“I am . . . sorry, Guy,” she murmured.  “I . . . don’t know what else to say about the past.  But I hope you won’t stay here and die.”

Guy lowered his hand, still clutching the handkerchief as though he was afraid to let it drop.  “Why do you care?” he asked again, spiritless.

Marian pressed her lips into a tight line.  “Because the sheriff has set sail from the port.  The king’s men searched Acre and the desert for miles around, and captured some of his spies, but there was no trace of him.  He abandoned you, Guy.”

Guy lowered his head again, and Allan found himself moving towards him.  Now, he was truly alone. 

Marian rested her hand on his arm.  “That’s why I opened your cell, Guy. I want you to be free.  You can do that now.  You can be the man you’ve always been when the sheriff was away.  I . . . I couldn’t start over with a clear conscience if I knew you had that opportunity, and I had denied it to you.”

They waited as Guy lifted the handkerchief again to dry his eyes.  “How can I now?” he asked, his voice so low Allan could barely hear him.  “That man that I was . . . it was because of you, Marian.”

She stepped closer to him. “That’s not true, Guy.  I may have . . . used those parts of you that are still kind and decent, but I didn’t put them there.  They belong to you.”

He looked at first one of them, then the other, searching for who knows what.  “But . . . I’ll be alone,” he murmured, eyes widening.  It was as though that thought scared him even more than execution.

Allan cleared his throat.  “You won’t be,” he heard himself say.  Marian looked at him in shock, and he was surprised himself at his words.  But he couldn’t deny the appeal of the idea forming behind them.

“I’ll go with you, Guy.”

“Allan,” Marian gasped, releasing Guy and turning to stare at him.  “What about the gang?”

“I . . . can’t go back, Marian,” Allan said slowly, the ideas coming so fast it was all he could do to get them out.  “I just . . . I don’t belong with them anymore.  They don’t need me anymore.  They were fine without me for so long.”

Marian gaped at him, reaching to clasp his arm.  “Of course they need you, Allan,” she cried.  “Robin wouldn’t have let you come back if they didn’t need you!”

Allan’s lips twisted into an ironic grin.  “Yeah, they needed me to get them out of the mercenaries’ trap, but since then? How can I be part of a band of outlaws whose leader would leave me to die because he didn’t like what I said about him?  Or his king? You know Robin still has doubts about me.  If he didn’t, he’d be here with you, and you and the others wouldn’t be plotting behind his back.”

Marian opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.  He knew that she wanted to argue, but his words made too much sense. She let her hand drop, and Guy took the opportunity to finally speak.

“Are you sure, Allan? You’re sure you won’t regret it?” he asked in awe.

Allan felt his smile soften. “Oh, Giz, who knows? Maybe I will.  Maybe you will! But I’ve been alone before, and I definitely regret that.  Don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

Guy looked at Marian for a moment, then back at him.  Slowly, the corners of his lips lifted.  “Well, what do I have to lose?”

Suddenly, Marian grabbed Allan’s elbow, pointing to one of the guards, who had lifted his head and was now looking around.

“You’ve got to leave now,” she hissed. “Here.” She pressed a pouch of coins into his hand.  “This was enough for your passage and some food, so you’ll have to make it stretch.”

Allan took hold of her shoulders.  “Thank you, Marian.  Tell Djaq and Will I love them, and I’ll never forget them.  And thank Much too.  I . . . I know it was hard for him to go against Robin for me.”

Marian nodded, then turned her head to look at Guy.  He was staring at them, almost dazed, as though he still couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Come on, Guy.  Let’s go!” he urged.

He stepped forward, looking down at Marian in silence.  Allan reached for a torch, watching the guard warily.  If he sounded the alarm, all hope would be lost.  He touched Guy’s shoulder gently, and that seemed to break the spell.

“Goodbye, Marian,” he said

“Goodbye, Guy,” she replied, giving him a little smile.  “Good luck.”

With that, Allan started running, listening to Guy’s footfalls in the sand behind him.

 “What have you done now, Allan a Dale?” he thought to himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's my "what if Marian didn't fucking die?" fic!
> 
> The question now is, what would Guy do with all the time he spent wallowing in grief and self-loathing if he hadn't murdered Marian? I think the answer is still, suffer. Because people don't just bounce back from being used by people they love.
> 
> In this AU, though, he has Allan! And I do envision Gullan as the end of all this, though it would take Guy a very, very long time to trust another person or himself again. If I did have the time or the creativity to actually embark on another long fic, that is!


End file.
